Journal Nanderpants
by Memeal
Summary: Five years after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry meets Draco. But Draco doesn't recognize him. Coffee dates, cats, and gleeful death threats to coworkers abound. 2 chapter one shot, HD slash
1. Journal Nanderpants

((_I am going to try another go at having a one-shot. I'm deplorable at writing one-shots, as they often try and become multiple shots. But this is one more chance. Also, I felt it necessary to prove that I really don't think Draco is a girl, and neither does Harry, in my little corner of the universe. But because I think Harry has been a git the last two books, I'm going to give him some time and grow up. Thus, this is post-Hogwarts and Harry and Draco are all growed up, so to speak. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own a thing! Except the words that have come from my brain. The character ideas, but for the slight changes that have come from my silly head, all belong to someone else. I'm only using them for sake of hobby and fun, not for profit, etc, etc, yadda yadda yadda._))

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Journal: Nanderpants  
October 16th AV 05 5:36 a.m. 

I have a picture engraved on my brain of him. He's sitting, hunched up on the bottom step of the steps leading up to Hogwarts. His scarf all but obscures his face and his grey eyes are staring at me without seeing me. He's in black robes and a thick black peacoat with gold buttons. His small feet are tucked into thick boots that haven't a mark on them. Brand new, like everything that was him. All of that black, and atop it, the silver of his hair, sliding down his skull to his back, a smooth glacier of ice.

He has his hands tucked around his legs and then into the cuffs of his coat. It's decidedly un-Malfoyish, I would have to take a guess at. His broom is laying across the ground a foot and a half from the toe of one of those boots and it is auburn, matching the September colors in the world around him. A wind has blown some leaves across the walk there, whole and untrampled, and a collection of three books lays not far from the broom, one of them open and pages fluttering in the wind.

It's a frozen sort of picture. And it's not real. For one, he'd never have been alone then. And for another, I don't know if I ever saw him sitting down, hunched like a child. He was an annoyance to me at that age, I'm thinking in my head, the picture of him is when he was about thirteen, still slender and small and if he wasn't looking at you, sweet looking. It's no wonder adults were willing to accept him.

No - that's unfair. I am constantly finding parts of my memory that are unfair to him. I invariably uncover another memory and find myself thinking like a teen aged unwilling hero all over again. Though if you'd asked me at the time, I'd never have admitted to being unwilling. It was a sort of pride to me. Not something to be proud of, per se. It was more that I couldn't accept I really didn't want to do what I seemed set out to do.

And now, when I go back and find myself caught up in memories, trying to sort them out and find the truth under them all, I always go back to that picture in my head. It helps put things into perspective. It helps me remember that Draco Malfoy was a boy. Like I was a boy. And we were both ratty to one another, as only boys can be, I suspect.

Sometimes I wonder where he is.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
October 19th AV 05 4:52 a.m. 

I find myself waking up earlier and earlier. I wish I could say it's part of my job or just getting older. The truth is, I have little reason to stay awake late at night. I don't really feel like reading books. I don't feel like going over work - I have enough of that at the office. I really don't often go out (and who? I ask myself - is to blame for that, Harry?) and I don't spend long hours on the telephone or with my head in the fireplace.

I would say I was lonely, but I don't know that I am. It's been five years since Voldemort's death. It's five years and in that five years, I've finally come to where I don't cry myself to sleep any longer. But I haven't gotten to where I want many faces, new faces around. I'm content with the old ones.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
October 22nd AV 05 7:33 p.m. 

It's such an odd month. I wonder what they're doing right now. Oh, I know I just wrote a few days ago that I don't want anyone around. Or that's what I think I wrote. Let me check.

Yes, I wrote that. But let me specify. I don't want anyone but sometimes I remember that maybe I will one day want to come out of my quiet hidey hole. When I do, I'd like to see people I know outside of it all, waiting for me.

That said, it came as quite a surprise today to find myself walking down the road, just outside the bakery I like so much (and I won't write that down actually because, while I know no one is reading this foul thing, I also don't trust that sort of information out there in the world wide web of infamy) when I thought I saw him. I am sure it couldn't have been him. I've heard he's back to England, of course. He and his mother are reinstated after the trial. Gods, it took so long! And I can't be sure how I feel about this all.

I want to say, "Never believe how much therapy I've had!" But it's not quite true. I couldn't go to therapy now, could I? No one would ever believe me and I sort of like coming off as a slightly normal, if shy and recalcitrant bastard. Still, I haven't seen him, or thought I've seen him, since the trial was first hinted at.

And I haven't thought of him since I heard his father had died some six months after being kissed. Rumors fly, as they always will when it comes to the upper echelon of our hidden society. But no one knows for sure if it was murder or suicide, or… in my opinion, secret execution. I don't harbor any idealistic impressions of the Ministry and its dealings.

As it is, I thought I saw him today. He was driving by in a car. But it wasn't him. It was a taller fellow, broader, with gold hair, not silver. And while he had that same face, his expression was boring, bland, mundane - irretrievably Muggle.

Still, it makes me think what else I was wrong about. Sometimes I wonder what he'd do if I tried to get in contact with him. We really never did talk after he left with the Potions Master (now defunct). And while I've thought at times to bring it up to the Headmaster, because I'm sure he would know (the twinkle in his eye that I've since come to love and not hate as I had when I first began school, seems to say so anyway) but I can never get the words out of my mouth. I'm always concerned how it will come out.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
December 3rd AV 05 6:21 

It's been forever since I've written in this. I keep forgetting it. Work has been awful. I hate it. And that beastly Jock Lyle has been a thorn in my side all month. I hope he reads this. He's a bloody nuisance and a real git. A true prat. A … oh I can't think of anything awful enough to call him. I hate him and wish he would die.

And now I see that written down and laugh. It's been years since I've been able to say I wished someone would die. I always felt that I'd seen enough death and I couldn't say such a thing lightly.

Maybe things are getting better.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
December 27th AV 05 12:01 p.m. 

Xmas was good. Hermione and Ron came over. Their newest is a doll. Very sweet. They're in amongst it all and I'm glad for them. Ron more than Hermione, though. She, I think, took it harder than he did. But his bunch have always bounced back well. He has all of that family and while they've had their losses, they've always seen it, I think, that they've had one another.

They came by on the eve before Christmas, the whole gaggle of them, including Ginny which surprised me. I wasn't sure she was talking to me. George came as well and discussed his intentions of opening a Muggle shop in New York City. I say all the more to him. He's more than willing to give it a shot and see how it goes. And his mundane inventions are nicely done. He said he was going to call it Freorge's and asked what I thought. I told him that it sounded like a nice way to remember how they had begun and to give Fred his due, since Fred was the smarter of them both.

It was a joke. He cried. Then I cried which I've not done for a while. But it was a good cry and didn't last long. And we interspersed it with laughter here and there. Then he rolled his eyes and told me that Fred could probably have stood up just fine for himself if he'd ever get up to turning up and saying hello. He was surprised his brother hadn't taken to haunting the joke shop.

They were gone for Christmas because I'd told them I was fine and wouldn't be alone. I didn't quite lie. I let them assume Remus was coming up. And so I spent Christmas listening to Burl Ives recordings and talking to my cat, Nitsie. She spent all of the day sitting on my lap and purring. That is, when she wasn't trying to work a Great Heist on my party platter left from the night before. She'd taken a liking to the turkey. I have to remember to change her food. I'll get something with a bird base this time, instead of a fish.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 1st AV 06 12:35 a.m. 

New Year Resolutions:

1. eat less carbohydrates. Yes, for heavens sake I AM a man!  
2. Listen to something with more bounce in it. Everything I have sounds as if it were a funeral march.  
3. Call H and R once a week, check in and say hi, just to keep them in place for when I come out of hibernation.  
4. Read all books by Dianne Wynne Jones. I swear she is a witch. She just seems to know, if you know what I mean.  
5. Sign up for a word a day service (already done)  
6. Make my bed every morning  
7. Steal that promotion from under the heels of Mr. Jock-Wish-He'd-Up-and-Die Lyle  
8. Drink less Coca Cola - switch to Pepsi  
9. Buy Nitsie a friend.  
10. Finish all ten of my New Year Resolutions before next year's New Year Resolution List.

Bonus resolution (if I ever get the guts up): Look up D.M. and see how he is. I don't have to talk to him. I just want to see how he is.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 3rd AV 06 4:38 a.m. 

Still waking up early. Hate job. Love cat. Hate Nutella - hate that Jock Lyle got me some. Wish he'd die.

Thought I saw him again. But it was just that same bloke that looks a lot like him.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 4th AV 06 5:02 a.m. 

Trying to make a practive out of putting something down every day while I have my tea. Wonder how long it will last. For today's gazette: Read Rostand's book instead of starting Wynne Jones' Dalemark series because I didn't want to read something so big. Nothing else to report.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 5th AV 06 5:07 a.m. 

Got coffee yesterday and a tart for breakfast. So much for less carbs. Saw DM lookalike. He talked and didn't sound like I've imagined a grown up DM would sound. He sounded… nice.

Have to go back and think of that picture again, with the green and silver scarf and the autumnal breezes. Is there any reason DM can't grow up and have a nice, rich, baritone voice? Didn't think so. Wonder how he sounds? Then again, don't suppose I'll ever know. Almost talked to the bloke because he looked nice but he left and I'm a nancy. Nice A$$ though. Oop! Did I say that?

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 6th AV 06 3:24 a.m. 

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE JOCK LYLE! I don't CARE if this is cause for blaming me for his death. I hope he's dead! He got the promotion. Stupid foofy ponce! I swear he sold his GRANDMOTHER to the bloody CEO! He would, too. I hate him. I hope he dies.

I'm going to say that more because it makes me giggle. And I'll never admit to saying I giggle in real life. It's almost a good way to start the day. Didn't sleep much last night. Nitsie is in heat. Poor thing. I should put her out of her misery and I DON'T mean killing her, excuse me. I mean getting her fixed.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 12th AV 06 4:35 a.m. 

DM Lookalike Bloke has name. Lucian. Very freaky. But he seems nice. I smiled at him today and he didn't see me. Maybe if I do something with my hair. He looks autumnal, he has reddish highlights in his gold hair. But his skin is like mercury, pale enough to make him a vampire. He asked the coffee barister to call him Luke. Very well. Luke. Mmmmm…. Say it again.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 25th AV 06 7:53 p.m. 

Didn't wake up early today. I slept in! Was almost late to work. Why? Because I was busy wanking off to Luke's hiney in my imagination. Such a sad, sad gay boy. I really need to grow up. 24 is too young to die of overwanking.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 26th AV 06 6:27 p.m. 

I had to take all day to simmer down. All I have to say to those so very "nice" posted responses (which are now stricken, thank you very much) is that no one asked you to read my journal and no one cares, you homophobic prick. Please go and off yourself.

That feels so good to say. Bet you're related to Jock-Who-Must-Die. Jerk.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 27th AV 06 5:47 p.m. 

Okay, now I feel like an idiot. I'm sorry for putting anyone who happens to be reading this up to my little dramatic act there. I needn't have responded. I'm far more mature than that, or I hope I am. I really could have just deleted the offensive material, emailed the system ops (thank you for the idea, Ihjane94 - you're a dear!) and forgotten it. I will do that next time someone decides to make an issue out of my sexual preferences. This isn't meant to be interactive. I merely wanted a place to put my thoughts down on and it was neat to find them in the internet, wherever I went. I seriously hadn't meant to have anyone actually READ anything I wrote. It's odd how many people are doing that.

And I'm going to be late for work!

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Journal: Nanderpants  
January 30th AV 06 4:42 a.m. 

Thought I'd catch up on Luuuuuke (he's so sexy). I smiled at him again yesterday. He smiles back. I don't know if he really looked at me or not. But he's coming in every day now. He said to the barista (barister? I think I called it a barister before. How DO you spell that anyway?) that he'd just moved up from Wales. His voice is so polite and so smooth and he's taller than me by about three inches. He has short blond hair cut in that old caesar haircut and it's the most gorgeous color. He wears glasses but I'll bet his eyes are deep blue or gorgeous green or something. And he's always got this gorgeous camel hair coat on that would look cheap on someone else. I've overhead many things. Let me outline them for you.

i. Luke lives with his family at the north side of town. He hates dogs (yay!) and finds cats okay. So long as he doesn't wear black.  
ii. He's taller than me and slightly broader than me. He looks like he actually eats right. Go him. Probably doesn't eat carbs. HE probably has a New Years Resolution List that he's finished by now.  
iii. His smile is sweet and shy. I think he's a tall broad, sweet, quiet, darling that I want to take home and hug and feed take out to. Can anyone arrange this for me?  
iv. His sister is going to art school. He's an accountant. Oooo, I think I'm going to need help with my numbers very soon!  
v. He's very droolworthy. If you see him on the street, stay away. He's MINE!

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 2nd AV 06 2:15 a.m. 

Let me add to that list. The one from yesterday.

Luke's middle name is Lucius, not Lucian (I misheard) because he's named after his father who is dead. His father died in prison. He doesn't look at all like I thought he would. He doesn't talk like I thought he would. He has grown up and I feel like an idiot. I wonder if he he's hiding? I suppose he has to. People in "our" society probably still have strong feelings about his family. His sister is actually a girl his mother adopted. That's taking up press time right now, not what's going on with him. And they're staying in a flat north of here. Not far north. I could take a train. I'm freaking out. It's two in the morning and I'm wigging out and I wonder if I'll ever sleep again.

And he doesn't recognize me. What the hell am I going to do?

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 3rd AV 06 4:32 a.m. 

Talked to… Luke today. I said hello. He took off his glasses and his eyes are the same. They're still grey and they're still aloof. But now they look more tired than anything. He doesn't look as I'd imagined him. He looks so… real and human and boring in a way. Maybe it comes from being an accountant. I said my name was James, which I go by, I'll have you know, even if I call myself Harry. And I said I was named after my father, like his middle name was from his father. I'd overheard him telling Peggy, the barista about it. It was a good start.

He looked at me as if he wasn't sure what to say or how to respond and I think for a moment that he thought it was me. Then he shrugged and smiled and we had a cup of coffee together and talked about his sister's art school and his boss and about Jock I-Hope-He-Dies-A-Horrible-Death Lyle and he laughed. He said I should be a comedian and I said he was lucky he had as inane a sense of humor as I did, otherwise he'd never have thought that.

He has a nice laugh. He asked if he'd see me tomorrow (which is today) and I said I wasn't sure. But I'd give it a go. Now I'm not sure if I should show up. The more I'm around, the more he's likely to realize. And what will I do then? But then if I don't show up and I've shown up every day - then what?

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 4th AV 06 4:06 a.m. 

Went to coffee yesterday and then met him for lunch. I wanted to ask him about things. I wanted to talk to him about our joined past. But whenever I got a chance to drop a hint, I chickened out. I'm not sure I want him to know its me he's talking to.

Looked in the mirror and wondered if he really doesn't recognize me. But then, I've changed too. I'm still slender, undernourished I suppose, and not half as athletic as he is. My hair is long and I keep it back in a braid to keep it out of my way. The scar on my brow is hidden under an almost permanent spell cover that the Headmaster himself put on. I think most people would miss the traces of it. And I dress pretty trendy now, I have to say. I want to be recognized now. But not for my name or what has happened. I want to be recognized for the person I can be.

And I don't wear contacts. Maybe he doesn't recognize me. I don't look much like I did as a kid. But then, how could he not?

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 5th AV 06 3:25 a.m. 

Went to lunch again and then went to dinner. We're doing it one extra step every time, I told him. He laughed that wonderful laugh and I told him he was really sweet and he blushed. I told him I'm gay today. He nodded and didn't say anything and I was worried that he was being polite again. But then he touched my hand and asked if I'd be there this morning for coffee. That maybe we could add another step. Dinner and a movie?

I'm going out with DM! I think I'll faint.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 8th AV 06 4:39 a.m. 

Time spent too fast. I'm daydreaming half of the time. Luke is amazing. He's like a dream. He's not anything like I remember and now I'm going back. I wonder how much of how he acted was for my benefit, how much was for the benefit of others? He says he used to live for other people when he was younger. He said his father had a great deal of influence on him until he died. He got very sad and quiet at that. I wanted to talk abut it, tell him.

I fubbed it. I didn't tell him. He's bound to ask one day. He's bound to tell. I asked him if he's dated anyone and he said he hasn't really. He said that his family is a bit on the quirky side and he's not had much of a social life for many years. He's not been free to date until just a few months ago.

I asked him if he'd like to date me. And he said yes. And I told him that maybe I should tell him some things about me and he kissed me.

I forgot everything else and never got around to tell him. That was last night.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 9th AV 06 4:32 a.m. 

Spent last evening kissing our way through a horror flick. Told him I hate horror flicks. But it was after he'd already chosen it. Then he laughed and said he'd only chosen it because it seemed something that everyone went to, but that he didn't like horror flicks either. He said next time we'll go to a romantic comedy. One with the stupid kind of humor that we both share.

We have a couple's joke. This is sad. He doesn't know who I am and we have a couple's joke. I have to tell him. But he kisses me and I forget. And he's very good at kissing, believe me. He makes me turn into one big tingle.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 11th AV 06 5:14 a.m. 

Haven't slept, wanted to leave note.

Slept with him. Called him Draco while he made love to me. He kissed me and then he must have remembered it after.

He left without leaving a note. He was very quiet. Probably did it with magic. I don't think I can go to coffee today. What if he were there? Going to RnH's. I can't even go to work. But I'll try.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 12th AV 06 4:17 a.m. 

Got to work late yesterday. Ruined my perfect record. Blast.

Not having coffee. He doesn't have my telephone number but he knows where I live. So I went to RnH's house yesterday after work as well instead of back home. Am staying there. Hermione thinks I'm mad. Ron was strangely quiet after I told him. Then he asked if I ever thought of talking to him about it?

No, I told him. He'll kill me. He hates me. I lied to him.

Well, you didn't tell him the truth, that's for sure. Ron agreed. But one thing you're always not very good at, Harry, is that you always make assumptions.

I asked if I could take a few days off from work and then asked them if I could stay with them for a few days as well. Work said no so I got "sick" and am going to stay with them for a few more days.

I think Ron's wrong. DM never wants to see me again.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 13th AV 06 4:28 a.m.

I hate Valentine's Day. Whoever thought of using a man's death as a reason to have a celebration about…

Oh wait. Never mind.

Anyway - hate it. And this time, I wish he were here, kissing me and that he didn't know who I was still. Maybe I never was who I was. Maybe I was always James. Make him always Luke. Then we'd have met at a boarding school for troubled boys and have hated one another, but we'd end up liking one another by the end.

I wonder if I'd have had the ability to forgive him in that way. It took something pretty drastic to get me to see him as anything but a git that I hated. If it hadn't been for everything that occurred after the headmaster's "death" I wouldn't have given him the time of day, I think.

Of course, now he won't give ME the time of day. Blast.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 14th AV 06 3:26 a.m. 

Going to work today. I hate today. I hate this holiday. Ron told me to get out of his house and make myself useful. I told him to go to hell. I said he was a terrible friend and that I would never talk to him again, no matter if I was godfather of the - and here I almost said brats. I was pretty stressed last night. Thankfully one of those adorable "brats" asked her mother why we were fighting and I realized I was making an ass out of myself and stopped.

Today is going to suck. I'm going to get coffee because if he's there, at least I can look at him. Ron is right. I can't run away all of the bloody time. Or maybe I'll just go straight to work and hide my head.

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Journal: Nanderpants  
February 15th AV 06 2:45 a.m. 

Thought I'd describe here yesterday, because it's a day I'll never forget.

I love Valentine's day. I don't care if it's a long drawn out funeral for poor Valentine or not. He was a lecher anyway.

I hadn't come in through the door of my apartment the day before, nor really left my bedroom after he'd left. I'd gathered my clothes and apparated from my room to RnH's house. So when I got back the other day and slept and got up and went out into my apartment after signing my life away to the internet deities, I was surprised to find that I had letters piled in the middle of my foyer. Most of them had just been rewritten but, well.

They were numbered. It was strange. I figured it out during the one I opened that said "Harry's Place 45?" and started off with "So anyways, I'm not done yet even though I thought I was and maybe I won't be done. I hope you've started with number one of these, because I'll look like an idiot if you open one of the ones where I'm going on about how much I hate you and you'll probably never know how much I'm missing you right now, even though it's only been a day since you left."

Well, that got me going through the envelopes. There were 72 of them in all. I think he'd just used a dicta quill and had gone off on parchments, sending them as soon as they were done. Some of them ended half way through what he was saying, would be sent and the next one would pick up from where he left off. He was hoping somewhere along there, I'd decide to talk to him. I think it is something like the messages you leave on an answering machine when you're positive the other person is there and just not picking up.

So I went back to number one and it told me of how he had popped off to get us breakfast and when he'd come back, I was gone. He hoped he hadn't screwed everything up. He'd known it was me for a few months actually. He'd recognized me while he saw me walking down the street back in October of last year. He'd seen I was going to a certain coffee shop and he stopped in too, trying to catch me. Said he wasn't sure if I'd forgive him for that. (Of course I would. I'd forgive him for anything if he'd just kiss me! I'm so silly and so easy to please!)

Well, after that, I saved the rest of the letters to be read later. I haven't opened them yet but I know they're sitting out on the foyer table because we waded through them when we came through the door tonight after dinner. He had his wand with him and he made everything stack up there. He laughed and said he was an accountant, it bothered him that things weren't in their order. I asked him if they were in order now and he kissed me.

I guess that means yes.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself.

I went to coffee. I went early actually. I sat there until I was late for work and he still didn't come in. Then Peggy asked me if Luke was going to come and pick up his order or if I was supposed to bring it to him. She said he'd gotten forgetful the last day or so.

So I went to his work with his coffee. I had to ask Peggy where she worked and I had to tell her I had misunderstood and that he thought I was mad at him and I wanted to tell him I wasn't. She said I was cute and told me without any other excuses.

And I showed up and smiled at the secretary and she directed me to where he worked which wasn't as nice as I'd have thought. He works in a cubicle. And I thought where I worked was bad!

Yes, a cubicle and he was at work there, his hair shining under the lamps and looking fake. (He told me he got sick of the white blonde. I asked him if he'd consider dying it blue next time. I'd like to see him in blue. Then he said maybe green and silver and that is all stuff that happened later but I can promise you it ended in kissing!)

Then I cleared my throat and said "I'm looking for a Drake… oh!" and thought I was clever. But he didn't. He stared at me and I worried that maybe I should have read the ones where he told me I was being stupid and he hated me. The letters, I mean.

Then the coffee was on the ground and seeping into the carpet and he was kissing me. It was that fast. I didn't even have time to wipe off my hand and hiss from the pain. He was kissing me and I just forgot about worrying about the letters at all.

Those were the important parts. I might write about the rest another day, but the naughty bits I think I'll keep out. Because some people are actually insane enough to read this. I don't understand that, wanting to read into other people's private lives. But then, I don't understand why I put everything out here into the public sector like this.

Still, it's been a very long, happy, wonderful night. And I'm going to sleep in tomorrow, right up to when my alarm goes off. And I may have to make that a new resolution.

End

(_Should you succumb to the need  
To feel as if one might be so free  
As to leave a note or two,  
Be sure to understand it  
That a review to one like me  
Is the best kind of thank you._)


	2. Dear Diary

((_For a well known and beloved reviewer… I'll do anything - hee hee - even submit to the will of the multple-shot fairy (who should be shot, in my opinion, multiple times) and write a second POV. Good heavens! Maybe **I** should be shot and put out of my misery. Hee hee. _

_Dedicated to Crimson Release, J.Nanderpants from "Luke's" POV._))

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Dear Diary:

It's done. I think I might rather enjoy that phrase for a while. It is done, final, finished. I no more have to go into that stuffy room, stare at the barristers and wonder when I'll be free of it all.

I will know this date forever, but I feel no need to describe it beyond that. My life has begun today and as a gift to myself, I felt I would take the time to write my experience down, my feelings, and my life once it became that of another man's. I am another man.

Diary, I don't expect you to understand. For merlin's sake, it's not as if "you" will ever understand anything and it is only giddy joy that makes me take to whimsy in this way and address you. Still, I don't expect you will understand the enormity of this moment. Mother has wept for almost three hours straight and Delia has asked that I intercede. I hope I handled it well enough. I insisted we all go Out. Mother dried her tears for no woman wants to be seen in a state of dissaray, and Delia has been working with her to get prepared.

And in the lull, I've taken up quill and paper and begun to write an account. I am not too certain of what it will contain beyond a new life. Actually, allow me the audacity of capitalizing that. This book, will contain my New Life.

And it is done. Thank all great powers that watch over us, we are all finally free.

* * *

Dear Diary:

Delia brought home a kitten. She said it was to add it's influence to the apartment. Mother of course accepted Delia's choice on animal and despite my misgivings the beast is turning out well enough. A cat would not have been my first choice, of course. I suppose I'd have chosen something that hadn't hair and wasn't loud, didn't attack my feet when I'm trying to tie my laces or play with my papers, sleep on my keyboard, or attack my head while I'm sleeping. But then, that would have been a fish, Delia says.

I like fish, I think.

Mother is feeling better. She's moving around now. I worry about her. She's never felt well after Father's death. I suppose she always felt certain he'd manage to maneuver his way out of Azkaban. It was his way until then. Still, her depression has impressed itself upon her doctor and he's proscribed her some medication. We brought it home and I've been working on anti-depressive potions ever since. The medication, and while I've nothing against Muggle doctors, wasn't doing the trick. She was listless and she often said she didn't feel herself.

Last week, however, I managed to make her an appropriate potion and she's been much more alive and willing to engage in the living that is taking place around her. Delia says it's a good thing we've no need to go back to the doctor or mess with the drug dosages. Delia would know of these things. She had been on a cocktail of medications before she came to live with us as a foster child.

How, then is it, I suppose you'd ask if you were something to ask questions, that the son and wife of a Deatheater could manage to foster a child?

After Father's assets were frozen, I was not sure how we would manage. Mother, bless her heart, had her mind set on hiding in the Muggle world. I know I fought her on it in every way. But Mother will have her way. And it was not long before I recognized the wisdom in her words. A week before moving, to go outside was a practice in trying to have six pairs of eyes to see where the nearest hex might come from. Yet in our apartment in Wales, suddenly I could walk anywhere and while I would be stared at (I think tall, blonde, and indescribably handsome would cover that) it was never with malice or recognition.

Muggles didn't know of our history or Father's indiscretions. They could not be asked to do much more than come to our apartment, see we've food on the table and a gracious mother figure (Mother was always gracious and apt to put on a good show no matter the audience), as well as seeing that I was already half way through my accounting program. Some figuring on grades and such and I discovered that Muggle university is nothing in comparison. (Though I won't go into how embarrassing it was to ask how many feet the paper was to be the first time.) They called me genius but I dare say that Granger girl from Hogwarts would have managed the entire program in six months. For me, it took a year.

Fostering Delia was the best mistake we ever made. Mother had asked for babies. She wanted, I think, to find something innocent in the world we inhabited then. But they sent along Delia instead. A gawky, fourteen year old with a penchant for snapping gum (a thoroughly disgusting habit) and playing altogether too loud music. And of course, Mother fell in love with her immediately. I believe Delia reminded her of myself. Though I dare say my rebellion came in far more distinguished ways.

* * *

Dear Diary:

I've had an offer from the firm. They wish to move me up north, London way. Actually in London. Mother was hoping for Framlingham because there is a castle up there she's intensely interested in. She says it is some manner of magical historic site. But the firm has offered me a raise and an advancement in placement along with the move. I could not say no. Also, Delia has found a school of art in the vicinity. I'm to go up in early December and find us a flat.

* * *

Dear Diary:

London.

There is a part of wizardy I've missed. Apparation is something of a good deal easier than walking to and fro, trying to reach this flat or that. I rented a car but it was only so much good. Mother wanted the west side of London but I've since found the fees are much less astronomical North and I've found us a nice little flat near a small plot of greenery. It seems like this will have to do. I've asked Mother to come and look at it. There is even a fireplace that, should Mother wish, she could attach to the Floo Network later on. I believe she's made some friends in Wales that she'd appreciate coming into contact with again.

* * *

Dear Diary:

London.

It's strange to me to sit and write twice in one day. I have barely kept up in this book, most entries being anywhere from a week to months apart from one another. Yet I must write this down for I haven't anyone to speak to about it and certainly do not wish to bring it up to Mother just yet. I think I want her moved here before I tell her that Harry Potter is living in London.

I should have known that. But we've ceased getting any wizarding papers and with the world of magic having turned its back almost entirely upon us, I felt it no great loss in turning my back on it. Albus has kept in touch, of course. Without his help, I don't know that Mother would have managed.

Yet in London? He must have been making a quick stop. I saw him along the road side as I drove through on my way back to Wales. He looked well.

I think this is where my mind turns into an uproar. I cannot say I know what to think. Harry Potter. It was Harry Potter. A childish side of me wishes nothing more than to stick my tongue out at him and perhaps hit him with a hex. But this is habit and not anything related to reality. In truth, I think I wanted more than anything to simply stop, to talk, to ask him… what?

What could I have asked him? He is the first person from our school that I've seen (I don't count Albus. He's a rather frustrating individual, never saying what he means and keeping secrets in ways that I cannot find it in myself to understand) and it made me home sick. I am home sick. Suddenly I wanted the smell of the halls and the stone, the sight of Severus (forgive me, professor for my memories of you) sneering at the other houses, the sense of pride in my following, the sounds of wind and Peeves.

I am suddenly missing magic.

* * *

Dear Diary:

Mother has gotten us all up and in a whirl today. She wishes to be fully moved in by Christmas and God forbid, she wants a tree. Delia is all up in arms against it. She is willing to make a tree, but she's begun something of an environmentalist kick of late and the idea of a dying tree in the room bothers her. We've made a compromise and I've ordered a fake tree that I've had delivered to the new flat in London. We leave in two days.

* * *

Dear Diary:

London. For good.

Christmas has been a tad bleak. Mother began to cry when she took out holiday decor and we've been having a somewhat unHappy Christmas. We're free, Mother says. It seems right that we should be home, not in some beastly hole in Muggle London.

But we do have my personal assets unfrozen. Father's have gone toward paying off suits against our family name. It seems strange to me to be paying for mistakes Father made. I've argued to this very effect and gotten nowhere. Excuses abound and a great deal of money is to be divided up by a great deal of lawyers and their great deal of clients. I will say no more. The entire proceeding leaves a bad taste in my mouth, much like bile.

Delia has helped immeasurably however. The art school has accepted her and she's been ecstatic despite Mother's mood. I begin the day after New Years and, as she says, nothing could be better. Her peppy attitude has balanced things out.

* * *

Dear Diary:

Harry Potter. I saw Harry today at a coffee shop on my way to work. I take the train and stop off to get myself breakfast. It helps keep peace at home for Mother and Delia both have a lie in that way. Delia doesn't have classes until eleven and Mother's first social engagements aren't generally until afternoon tea.

He didn't look at me twice. I have changed. I've filled out some, I know. And Delia has had fun with my hair at times. It is a left over gold from this strange concoction she tried on it four weeks ago. I will have to try another color. I wonder what the firm would think of my going red? I wonder what Harry would say?

I have to laugh over that. And seeing Harry reminds me of the Weasleys and so many others that I've not thought of for years it seems. I shall have to ask Albus about them later. Mother says he's to come up next week for dinner.

* * *

Dear Diary:

I find myself going to the same coffee shop, despite bumping into Harry every time. At first he didn't notice me. And once he was directly behind me when the young woman behind the counter introduced herself. I told her I was Lucius, but she was welcome to call me Luke. I've found I've enough of a remarkable presence without adding the name Draco to it. And I wonder at times if some time apart from the wizarding world and my hair color changes, my deeper changes which make Delia laugh as she looks at my pictures, aren't something of a blind to hide behind. Therefore, Luke seems far more suitable and I have gone by it for the past four years now.

Yesterday, hoewver, he smiled at me. I pretended not to see. I was so uncertain what to do. He is a beautiful man, Harry is. He would hate it if he knew I was there. He'd probably tell me to get out or even worse, lose his temper and hex me into next week.

I wonder what he's doing in London?

* * *

Dear Diary:

The firm has accepted my proposal to take on the Morena account despite misgivings (and I cannot explain that I am certain of them for I know of the family backing the company - very Light family) over how some of their business is at times difficult to trace.

Mother has accepted the offer to go to France with a friend in March.

Delia is working on her first painting.

Delia's cat (She's named the thing Kip - of all names!) is sitting on my monitor. He's learned to remain off of my keyboard. I can't say how many times I've thrown that damnable animal across the room. But now that he's grown some, he is almost bearable.

And Harry Potter smiled at me again. And this time I smiled back.

* * *

Dear Diary:

I think I may have ruined everything. But I'm unsure if I did or not.

Today, Harry smiled at me again as I walked past. He offered me his table and I sat down. What else was I to do? The conversation was something strained on my part though he seemed to have done well. He asked about my sister, my mother. I realized quickly into the conversation that he had been paying particular close attention to me and my conversations with Peggy (the coffee shop owner, delightful girl). It frightened me at first and I wasn't sure what to say.

In the end, however, the truth seemed only best. Or, as much of the truth as I felt he could handle. I am still, despite my years away, a Slytherin at heart.

He has a coworker that he hates, it hope with more vehemence than he ever hated me. I don't think I was ever anything but Draco the Insufferable Git.

He also said how his name is James. And how he was named for his father like I was for mine. I was afraid of what to say just then. He had to have known. But he merely stared at me with that half smile on his face and I pawned it off somewhat well. I think I just moved past it, changed the subject.

He didn't run then. And he knows my "name" though he calls me Luke and he's said nothing about my being Lucius Malfoy's son. Is it too much to ask that he never find out who I am?

Of course it is. And I really ought to tell him soon. But I'm afraid I can't see any reason to give up the one joy I've had in my life beside Delia in over five years. It's been longer than that, actually. From before then, from the moment Voldemo

I can't even write the name. It sickens me.

And I recall now that I promised I wouldn't go into the past. I am not that boy any longer. I am free like I never was free then.

I asked him in the end if I'd see him again. I know that it was pressing the point. He's been there every day and if he doesn't show up tomorrow, then I suppose we'll all know.

* * *

Dear Diary:

The past two days have been marvelous. Delia asked what had me smiling and I wasn't sure I could tell her and not have Mother know at the same time. For the moment, she's holding her breath. I promised I'd tell her the minute I had a Real date. She laughed and told me that if I'm going out on dates then it must be marvelous.

I feel all I'm doing is writing about Harry. And suddenly I'm writing so often! But this can't last long and I want something to look back on fondly when it blows up in my face.

Harry had lunch with me yesterday. And today, he had dinner with me. He's talked about everything and anything but Hogwarts and wizardry. And he's not recognized me in the slightest. Or, I wonder at times, that he doesn't know me. And perhaps he too, is willing this into something surreal and dream like. As long as neither of us says it aloud, we can continue this way.

Let us hope we continue forever. Heaven listen to me. But I've never wanted anything so badly. He is everything he was in school and more. He's not so spiteful, not so afraid and angry. The wild feral quality is still there that always frightened me. But no longer is he caught up in his trials (as I see them now). Rather, he's grown in all ways.

He's smaller than me and tonight, as we left the restaurant, I almost kissed him. He's the right height for me to reach down and with just the slightest stoop, I would be able to claim his lips as my own. I cannot keep from that possessive desire to brand him and let all know he belongs to a Malfoy.

For what it's worth now. The Malfoy name has been dragged through the dirt for so long now I dare say his being mine would act as no deterrent. There is no fearful tremble at the saying of the name, no look of revulsion or awe. We are undone but we are free. So perhaps I could convince him to say I was his. I know the name Potter has a ring to it that will resound for generations.

And I'm dreaming. I've asked him out on a real date for tomorrow. That means I must tell Delia. And I'm nervous for tomorrow.

* * *

Dear Diary:

Kisses. I'm awash with kisses.

Mother was incensed that I didn't tell her at first about my affair with Harry Potter. Delia has been asking who he is and I've been attempting to try and take the anger out of Mother's telling, to interject some calm reasonability into the story. I hope Delia hasn't gotten the wrong idea. And I don't think that Mother will hate him. It is only her upset about Father's death.

Despite this, I sleep each night with a smile upon my face. And dream of kisses. What a delightful thing to dream of.

* * *

Dear Diary:

I am confused and yet happy. Last night we went out to dinner. We, being Harry and I. Then we went to his flat and he invited me in for a drink. I laughed and told him that if he was offering what I thought he was offering, I'd most definitely take him up on it.

The fact that he'd let me, the son of a man who would have happily killed him without a second thought, then gone on to finish tea and crumpets, into his living room was of monumental importance to me. I swore that my heart would have burst right then from happiness. He was trusting his school enemy into his home and, I hope, into his heart as well.

The movie had been of the kind that leaves one wondering where a good shag might be found. It was a romantic comedy; one of those that has all manner of couples, straight, gay, married, running about in it. And in this one, the gay couple weren't very flamboyant. And they were the only ones with a love scene. I wanted nothing more than to finish that love scene with Harry.

He didn't say anything about my taking him up on the "drink" that he'd offered. He just opened the door for me with that slow, seductive smile on his beautiful mouth. I followed him inside and didn't even bother to allow him to close the door. I think he might have kicked it closed later for it was closed this morning. But I was more intent on getting he and his clothing to have a parting.

How can I describe it? He was beautiful. He is beautiful. He touched me in places that I'd forgotten about. He made me feel as if I were sixteen, though I'm not far off. Yet just being near him was enough to set my body aflame.

And most beautiful of all. We called one another's names as we fell into orgasm. It was a pleading call, his name and then mine. And not the false names.

I fell to sleep holding him. I told him I loved him.

I hope that wasn't a mistake. I can't say I'd take it back. And I think he may have been asleep when I told him.

Needless to say, I woke up around five this morning and went to make us breakfast. His home has nothing in it, however and I put on his jacket and went out to get us something. I am unsure if he thought the same thing or perhaps he had an important meeting to go to. I'll stop by his place after work and figure out what happened. I can't wait to see him tomorrow.

* * *

Dear Diary:

I think it would be impossible to write more and yet here I am. I've been writing for a day and a half straight.

He's left. He's not been to the coffee shop. He's not been to work. They didn't know when he would be back. I'm terrified. I've missed something, broken something. I rage and then I stand and stare at the walls. I write feverishly and send the pages as I get them finished, I write letters on three foot long parchments. I can't say a single thing for it. All I know is that he's not answered his door bell, his telephone, his mail. His work says he's ill. But he's not at home. I've gone to his home, even gone inside. (Silly git hasn't got wards on at all!) There is the pile of my mail, left unopened.

I've been crying for hours. Delia and Mother have finally left me be. And I keep shaking because I can't cry, I suspect.

I love him. I love him and I've forgotten something. I've.. I've..

What if his crying my name had been in surprise? I said his… maybe it was that moment when he

No. I won't think that he didn't know. Too many signs have shown he has known who he's been with. It must be something else. I've written him every single possible reason I can think of that he'd suddenly not wish to see me. I've written him about how it might not even be his fault. And my biggest fear is that he's taken. No wards.

* * *

Dear Diary:

Albus tells me he is fine. Damned man. He knows where Harry is, I'm sure. I'll kill him. I'll go get my wand and make him pay for keeping my Harry from me.

* * *

Dear Diary:

He came to me today. I saw him coming. Evelyn told me a gorgeous man had shown up with my coffee. I had forgotten about picking up my order. I have a standing order with Peggy. I peeked over the top of my cubicle and there he was. Oh he was so beautiful! I almost fainted.

Evelyn asked if I was okay. Apparently I can look more pale. And I told her to give him directions the long way to my desk. I needed time to compose myself.

But I hadn't managed to find any more composure than before. Every footfall could have been his. They passed, passed, this time passing again, then pausing and taking a step back.

He cleared his throat and I thought I'd faint from terror. Here it was, whatever it was. I had no idea what to expect any longer. Then he said he was looking for me. Or rather, he said he was looking for Draco, not for Luke. He drawled it out, so sweet and low and I stared at him. I wasn't sure what to say, how to say it. Him, standing there, looking pleased with himself.

I know I had intentions then of strangling him. I went at him to do that. But it didn't come through in practice. Instead we were kissing and I'm not sure who changed it from a strangle to a kiss. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him. I don't recall much more than my fear and the sudden relief as he was holding me close and kissing me so hard I thought I'd faint.

Evelyn is a dear. Have I mentioned her yet? She's the secretary for my floor. She's a complete dear. She helped me see that snogging sessions in the middle of the accounting room floor was not the best thing to be doing. Especially with her sister, Beatrice looking on. Beatrice had a decided "how cute" expression on her face when I happened to look at her.

So I took the rest of the day off and managed to get Harry into a taxi. Then somehow, I managed to not kiss myself senseless with his lips on the way back to his flat and I managed not to do more than hold his hand in the lift to his door. I managed a lot of things and they were all worth the fact that I didn't manage to close the door to his flat this time and neither did he.

* * *

((_Thank you all for reviewing, reading, the whole bit! You're all marvelous!_)) 


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